Unlike Kenshin, Okita didn't care about using the blunt edge of his sword. The smell of blood and the feel of the blade resisting as it cut into flesh were all too familiar. He wished he'd dressed in his uniform now, if only for the nostalgia factor. He could almost imagine tatami beneath his feet and the dying screams of rebels who were too prideful to lay down their weapons echoing off the walls.

He really shouldn't have been thinking of that though. His attention should have been on Kenshin and before he knew it, the rurouni was in his face and Okita was forced to backpedal, trying to get out of his range again. He was still missing something though and as Okita caught a glimpse of Kenshin's eyes, he knew what it was. The Battousai was lurking, but it hadn't yet come out to play. Well, he might as well force it out.

Stopping midstep, Okita abruptly changed directions and brought his sword up to block, before attemping to ram his shoulder hard into Kenshin's injured one.